


Stuntman

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5 + 1 Fic, Gen, Humor, all for the terrible punchline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve does all his own stunts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuntman

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: I laughed about this for a whole day, so now you get to laugh at it (or regret clicking here, whatever).

-1-

Steve throws himself through the window, seventy floors–maybe eighty–above the street. He spreads out, hoping the wind resistance will slow his fall, never doubting that Sam heard him.

A shadow passes in front of the sun, and then Sam’s hands, strong through the gloves, catch his wrist. Steve jerks, a rag doll in an air current, and Sam hauls him up, up, up.

Sam drops him on the roof, and Steve rolls forward, coming up on his feet, shield up. He readjusts the straps and starts back into the fray when his comm crackles.

“Give a guy some warning next time, man.”

 

-2-

One moment he’s rushing across the deck, the next he’s caught in a quinjet’s backwash, thrown back, flung over the side.

“Man overboard!”

He flips and crosses his arms over his chest and hits the water feet first. The boots are heavy, the uniform is heavier, and it’s a fight all the way to the surface.

It seems to take forever before the Zodiac gets to him. He grabs the edge and hauls himself over, into the floor of it, sprawled and soaking and panting.

He grins a little wildly up at the crewman driving the boat.

“Thanks for the ride.”

 

-3-

He sees the RPG the moment before it makes impact with the tail boom. He has enough time for an expletive before he flings himself out of the open door. The explosion rips through the air, flames singe the back of his uniform, and as he free falls, he looks for the safest place to land.

That is, the place with the least burning shrapnel.

And people not shooting at him, that would be nice, too.

Steve tucks into a ball and hits the canopy hard. The tree doesn’t do much to stop his fall, and once he slams to the mossy ground, he’s got splinters in his cheeks and fingers and pine needles in his hair and he’s pretty sure he’ll smell sap for a month.

But at least he’s alive.

He limps toward the rendezvous, breaking two more of his own ribs, someone else’s arm, and another guy’s neck on the way.

 

-4-

The way he sees it, he really only has the one option, and despite Bucky’s colorful stream of curses in his ear, he does it, anyway.

He sends the bike into a skid, sends it sliding along the asphalt on its side, metal crunching and sparks flying. He stands on the side of the fender and the seat and hopes the gas tank holds out long enough for him to get clear.

When he can see the wide-eyed shock of the AIM troopers through their tinted faceplates, he jumps. The bike takes out six of them, maybe, before it catches fire.

Steve lands in a roll and keeps going until he’s clear. Bucky’s voice is still in his ear.

“You stupid goddamn son of a bitch–”

Steve jumps up and lifts the shield against the fresh rain of fire. “Leave Mom out of this!”

 

-5-

It’s not going to be fast enough. By the time the quinjet gets there, and lands, and they get the ramp down, it’ll be too late.

The streets, for all that they’re chaos, are faster.

Steve slams the emergency release button and the ramp lowers. Sam and Bucky both look at him, confusion and frustration Steve pretends not to see. He fastens the chin strap of his helmet and shrugs.

“Race you there!”

He runs down the ramp and flings himself off, aiming for the rooftop a hundred feet below.

He pretends not to hear what Sam has to say about that.

 

+1

“Where the hell,” Bucky asks carefully, “did you get that?”

Steve glances down at the t-shirt. It’s a little too tight–he thinks Natasha does it on purpose, he does actually know what size he wears (now he knows, anyway) and he’s told her so, but she keeps bringing him these novelty shirts and he never has the heart to turn her down.

Besides, he likes this one.

“I gave it to him.” Natasha saunters into the briefing room behind him, pausing ever so briefly to pinch his ass and grin up at him when he jumps and twists. “Don’t you like it?”

Bucky glares at Steve’s chest, and the bright white words stretched across it. _I do all my own stunts._

“Don’t encourage him, Romanoff. He doesn’t need it.”

Beside Bucky, Sam puts his head in his hands and shakes a little.


End file.
